Tag Archives: Friday Fictioneers

Junk Yard Dog

Posted on August 29, 2018 by Jan Morrill

Who are these humans milling about My Lady’s yard? And why are they touching her things? Someone picks up my favorite treasure—My Lady’s mirror! The one that once hung in her hallway, where every morning, she’d lean in to put … Continue reading →

Posted in fictioneers, Flash Fiction, writing | Tagged , , , | 33 Comments

Lightness of Being

Posted on August 22, 2018 by Jan Morrill

Some found the thought unbearable and couldn’t bring themselves to do it, though like thousands of others, they’d traveled to this sacred place intending to release a burden. With trembling hands, one man attempted to place his smart phone on … Continue reading →

Posted in fictioneers, Flash Fiction | Tagged , , , | 51 Comments

A Jar Full of Lighters

Posted on August 15, 2018 by Jan Morrill

Out of cigarettes to smoke out of tissues to wipe away the tears a final swig of whisky to get him through the night then he was gone She came to gather his things and wondered about all the lighters … Continue reading →

Posted in fictioneers, nostalgia | Tagged , , , | 36 Comments

Faith

Posted on August 1, 2018 by Jan Morrill

“I hid a note in there.” She blushed. “What’d it say?” “Not telling. You’ll have to find it.” “I’m not sticking my hand in there,” she said, arms crossed. He snickered. “That’s ‘cause you’re chicken.” “Am not!” Her heart beat … Continue reading →

Posted in Flash Fiction | Tagged , , | 40 Comments

The Sound

Posted on July 25, 2018 by Jan Morrill

As a child, she walked the shoreline, listening to waves lap against rocks as she stooped to study tiny tide pool worlds that breathed in and out with the waves. As a teen, she sailed the inlet, departing the harbor … Continue reading →

Posted in fictioneers, Flash Fiction | Tagged , , , , | 43 Comments